


A Different Kind of Danger

by BakerBitches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apiology, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerBitches/pseuds/BakerBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT:<br/>banditbrineshrimp:</p><p>Sherlock slobbing around in his PJs or otherwise nonchalantly half-dressed might be one of my favorite things these days.</p><p>He’s absorbing some beekeeping journals he [liberated from an ignorant, tedious, and undeserving client] acquired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Danger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BanditBrineShrimp](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BanditBrineShrimp).
  * Inspired by [Reading](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/29112) by BanditBrineShrimp. 



"Thank you so much for coming out here, Mr.Holmes; it's really been a difficult time for my wife and I. The burglar had us left dumbfounded!" The man gushes at Sherlock. His shelves are stacked and stocked to their full capacity with books, which isn't shocking since he studies zoology and biology to become an entomologist. By no means is he stupid. (he is actually very educated), but of course, compared to Sherlock, anyone would be, especially if the stupidity were determined by the detective. And determined it was.

 

The newly married couple were having problems with items going missing during the night. They would wake up in the morning, and expensive items would be gone- except there were no signs of forced entry. _The doors and windows were actually still locked._ As soon as Sherlock stepped on the scene (as in before he even climbed the four steps to the front door), it was obvious as to who was stealing their possessions. However transparent it was to Sherlock, both the Yard and the newlyweds were stuck in a fog with the evidence right in front of them.

 

Sherlock noticed straight away that the locks on the door had not been changed, weather-wear covering the outside of the lock from past years. Only the landlord (out of town during the disappearance of the items) and the couple had keys to the recently bought house. Except for the past tenants who made duplicates during their stay, a fact totally escaped from the landlord. The detective allowed them to usher him inside since he fancied a cup of tea along with the idea of humoring the man and woman, and instantly noticed the collection of boxed insects and worn bindings of old books mixed in with shiny new ones. A few old journals spotted the shelves, and he sipped his tea while pretending to inspect the ledges where gold figurines of bugs once sat, when really, he was admiring the weathered covers of the handwritten apiology books and completely ignoring what the two chattered at the back of his head. John stood across the room, looking for any actual evidence of the case and discovered a broken hoop earring the wife said was not hers behind a now-empty cabinet. It only reinforced Sherlock's deduction, since upon meeting with the husband and wife for the first time, the old homeowners were still moving what they had left of their belongings, a woman with the set of earrings matching the one John found.

When the couple turned to listen to what John had discovered, Sherlock snatched the apiology journals from the shelves and stuffed them into the inside of both his coat and suit jacket, taking as many as he could before they turned back to him. About six were shoved inside, including other various journals that might have had information on bees. As they placed their attention back on Sherlock, he smiled sunnily and clasped his hands behind his back.

"What happened to your tea-?"

"The old homeowners made copies. I would suggest changing your locks and reminding your landlord of the extra keys; you’ll find that he forgot to mention that. I’ll have the force collect them." Sherlock cut him off and turned curtly, calling John’s name as he went. John shoved the earring at a member of the forensics team and jogged from the house.

"Lestrade, you said that this case was going to keep me occupied for a long time. It was the previous tenants." Sherlock shouted at a flustered detective inspector from across the tops of police cars without looking at him, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock wasn’t shy about his body (though also not overly proud of it) and took to lounging about the flat half, almost, or fully naked, even when John could see… _all_ of him. Today, though, he took mercy on the doctor. Sherlock opted for no shirt and a pair of blue, cotton pyjama bottoms while he laid on the carpet of the sitting room reading over the books he collected the day before. When Sherlock read, he usually scanned quickly down the pages, newspapers finished in minutes and books were often left unread due to his expansive knowledge, so it came as a surprise to John that the man let his eyes rove over the words with great interest and concentration, focusing on every word scrawled in the weathered journals. Sherlock looked content about the information he was taking in.

"What’s even in those?" John asked, setting Sherlock’s tea on the desk above his head. He knew better than to put it on the floor next to him or on top of the other many books in fear of Sherlock not noticing and knocking it over in his complete immersion. He was sprawled out on his back, taking up a good part of the reddish rug with his long body. He held the pages above his head tightly, almost protectively. Piles of dusty brown journals littered the space around him and John wondered where the books came from.

No reply came and John sat quietly in his chair, opening a book of his own that he kept on the end table next to his seat. He became engrossed in his own chapters and lost himself to the characters and their story line. John was fast coming to a plot pusher when he was startled by a low, quiet voice breaking the thick silence.

"I want to keep bees." Sherlock murmured, snapping the book shut and picking up another one.

John blinked. He closed the book on his finger. “Sorry, what?”

"Beekeeping. They’re interesting. Very neat, clean creatures. Organised, almost like master criminals." Sherlock commented back, sitting upright and reaching for the cup above his head absently. "The workers do the dirty work while the soldiers and queen watch idly as their objective is finished for them. Not to mention the great service they provide for nature," a small smirk crossed his face. "There’s a reason people use ‘The birds and the bees,’ as a reference to sex; they start the reproduction of plants."

"Seriously, though?" He grinned back incredulously.

"Yes," Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he sipped at the mug in his hand. "Problem?"

"It’s just…," John struggled to find the words he wanted to use. "strange. You, in a quiet life? Seems backwards." John smiled to himself as he shoved his nose back in his book.

"How so?"

"We live dangerously, Sherlock. Murderer’s are appealing to you, remember? We run around England looking for dead people and killers, jumping over buildings and in front of vehicles. Tending to bees is sort of… dull compared to our current life." John explained.

"Bees can be dangerous," he snapped back indignantly. "An African bee can kill you with one sting. But that’s beside the point: honey bees. I want to collect honey, and honey bees don’t have stingers."

"You’re allergic to honey." John spoke to his book fondly and plainly.

"There’s the danger." he responded pointedly over his tea.

A few minutes passed.

"But bees?"

"Yes, John. Bees."

**Author's Note:**

> Users who worked on this piece:  
> ThisChickIsOffTopic


End file.
